


You Keep Me Insane, Baby

by vesuviannights



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, Orgasm Denial, Punishment, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 04:48:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20091526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesuviannights/pseuds/vesuviannights
Summary: You each have a funny way of showing your love. For you, it's demanding his attention when he won't give it to you. For him, it's making you storm out of his office, orgasmless and livid.





	You Keep Me Insane, Baby

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the smutty drabble game on my Tumblr (@vesuviannights). The prompt was "I don't want to have to punish you tonight..." with a gender neutral MC.

“I don’t want to have to punish you tonight…” Lucio tilts his head, looks you over where you’re perched on his desk in front of him. “I have a lot to do, and to punish you for wasting my time will only waste more of it.”

Somewhere underneath you are maps, bound sheets of paper, a pen he had been attempting to write with before you’d snatched it off him and placed yourself in front of him, legs crossed, hands behind you. He is sitting with his chin in his hand, gaze a little narrowed as he eyes the exposed skin of your thighs, the curve of your shoulder, your bottom lip as you roll it between your teeth. 

He is stuck in a predicament that is only ever amusing to one of you: punish you for interrupting his work, for tempting him by prancing around with so little clothing and making soft little sighs every time you leaned in a little close to him – except punishment is exactly what you want – or let you get away with the behaviour, which would teach you a lesson but drive him insane.

In the end, as with most things, Lucio hates delayed gratification and not getting what he wants—and what he wants, so very, very much, is to watch you suffer.

“Spread your legs.”

You scramble to do so, moving your hips a little further forward on his desk so that you’re as close to the edge as possible. He stands, his chair falling back with a thud behind him, and steps in between your thighs. 

He leans forward in a sweeping motion, the tip of his nose tracing the curve of your neck, his hands curling into his desk either side of his thighs. You hear the familiar scratch of his claw as it rakes down the wood, leaving a new mark to accompany the many that have already been made in the very same desk.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he murmurs.

“I’m waiting to see what you’re going to do.”

“Liar.” He laughs into your ear. “My beautiful little liar. You know exactly what I’m going to do, because it’s exactly what you _want_ me to do.”

You shake your head, trying to deny it. He lifts his own, eyes level with yours once more, and brings his hand up, pushing two fingers in past your lips.

“Suck.”

You do, greedy little moans escaping your throat as you take his fingers further in, wrap your tongue around them. All the while you keep your eyes on his, just the way he likes, the way he demands. 

When he’s satisfied, he pulls his fingers out and settles the same hand between your legs, spreading the dampness from your mouth all over you.

“Ask for it.”

This is one you’re always ready for. Lucio could listen to you bed for hours if you don’t use the correct wording. He likes the way certain words roll off your tongue and shape your lips, the light flush of your cheeks and the tips of your ears as he makes you say the filthiest things.

“Please fuck me with your fingers.”

“Manners and everything!” He grins, his canines glinting in the soft light of the room. “Maybe I shouldn’t punish you after all.”

But despite his words, his fingers have already begun circling your hole, testing and probing for a few moments before slipping inside.

Your legs shake, your head falls back, and he’s quick to lift his golden hand to cup the back of your head and force your gaze back to his. He crooks his fingers inside of you, slow and careful, seeking and hitting every perfect spot inside of you like a trained marksman. 

Your bottom lip trembles as he fucks you, keeps your gaze locked with his, and you are unsettled as the realisation begins to sink in that you perhaps _don’t _know what he’s going to do, what his punishment is going to be—if he deems you worthy.

“If I let go, will you keep looking at me, pet?”

You nod, hurriedly and before he has even finished his sentence, but he’s also already released his hold on your head before you do, so sure of your answer.

He uses his hand to catch your bottom lip, pulling it down to expose your teeth—he takes such pleasure in telling you how much he enjoys feeling them scrape ever so slightly along his cock when he’s fucking your mouth—before he takes it away and claims your mouth, sighing softly into the kiss as he takes his second hand down to between your thighs, beginning to drag you closer toward your orgasm. 

It’s building almost too quickly in your lower belly, a burning sensation that is starting to creep its way to every nerve in your body. When his fingers twist inside of you, you have to break away from the kiss to gasp and swear, but he growls and takes your head again.

“You said you wouldn’t look away.”

You nod yet again, breathless, even though you know it should have been an apology. Your entire body is trembling, aching, burning with the promise of your orgasm, so close, so near, the heat of him pressing against your thigh through his pants, his teeth scraping along your shoulder, his words soft and praising you every time you make a sound he loves.

You whimper, a scream begins to build in your throat, and you’re so close, so close, so close—

Until he pulls it all away, every hand, every inch of his skin, the hard length of him against your thigh, his wonderful words telling you how much he loves you and how happy you make him. He sinks back down into his chair, leaving you to stare—dazed, confused, more than a little out of it—as you ache from the absence of his fingers, from the need to come.

“Out you go,” he tells you, waving toward the door. The noise you make must be amusing, because his eyes glint with that hint of cruelty as he shrugs. “Figure yourself out. I told you there would be a punishment.”

“But—”

“I have work to do. Important work. Go bother someone else.”

Your jaw goes stiff at the realisation that you have been had. That even though you had gone into this expecting a punishment, you had also expected reward—a spanking, but an orgasm after, or having to choke on his cock before he’d let you rub yourself against his thigh until you screamed, like some sort of horny adolescent.

You slip off his desk, legs still a little shaky. You do your best to adjust your clothing to a proper state, and to not look at him while you do it, but you seem to fail miserably at both. 

You stalk toward the door of his study, turning back at the last minute with your eyes flashing and fists balled at your sides. His head is propped up on his chin as he watches you, grinning and almost doting on the sight of you so frustrated and dishevelled.

“Fuck you!” You spit. 

“I love you too, pet.”

Your scream of frustration as you slam the door behind yourself does nothing to cover up the sound of his laughter—loud, light, jovial. It follows you through the corridors of the palace and well into the night as you try and fail to get yourself off, but his punishment stays true—there is no pleasure unless he is touching you.


End file.
